


Everything Happens for a Reason

by Simplimagination



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Marinath, Oneshot, Stood Up, nathanette, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplimagination/pseuds/Simplimagination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty minutes pass and she’s on her phone again, dialing the number and leaving her first message. Marinette is still hopeful, it seems, as the artist comes back to refill her water, “He’s coming.” She assures him, “Any minute now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Happens for a Reason

Nathanaël’s lips part, hues of vibrant turquoise wide as if unable to comprehend the image of the stunning young woman entering the tiny café. A ghost of a breath catches in the base of his throat as she graces him with a gentle wave and a perfect, little smile after her own surprised gasp.

  
Marinette was a vision of beauty, long, raven black tresses cascading down her shoulders in loose curls. The white of her blouse curved with her figure, defining her slender frame while a neatly tied bow fell below the black of her peter pan collar. The maroon colored cardigan added a burst of personality to her outfit and he wondered then, why she had never worn red years prior because red was definitely her color.

  
The artist stared, dumbfounded at the way her head fell to the right as dainty fingertips guided a lock of ebony to curl behind her ear. Her eyes catch his once again, a deep, ocean blue that forces all the air from his lungs as he drowns in them. The host sends a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows toward the red head, which forces red to stain his complexion, the tray in his hands lifting in a foolish attempt to cover his face as the host seats her in one of his tables. Could the love and affection he had once had for her still be apparent?

  
Possibly so, as realization hit like a vicious blow to the stomach, successfully knocking the air from his lungs for a second time. Could she be awaiting a date?… With a forced smile, fingers idly tapping the tray in his hands pressed against his chest like the sketchbook which had once been his only salvation, Nathanaël approaches her with timid retribution. Her smile sends a pleasant wave of warmth to pool in the line of his stomach, his mouth going desert dry as he attempted to whet suddenly chapped lips.

  
Marinette was patient, just as she had been in high school, allowing him the time to recover. Oh dieu, if only she knew the power she had over him. Time hadn’t changed her. She was still the beautiful, sweet and perfect Marinette he remembered, even after his suspicions proved correct. Her smile falters, if only for a second, as she struggles to find the correct words, completely aware of the possibility a single word could change the outcome of their entire evening because despite losing contact, the artist was still a cherished friend.

  
“I’m….meeting someone here.” She began, setting her phone face down before turning to fully acknowledge the red head, “I…don’t really know him. But, he’s one of Alya’s friends and well…things happen for a reason, non?”

  
Somehow, he finds the energy to straighten, the notion that he would be listening in on their conversations leaving a bitter taste in his mouth because he had never found the courage to ask her out.

  
Scribbling her drink order on the used notepad, Nathanaël pauses, hesitating as he steps back, a soft, defeated breath escaping the comfort of his lips as he whispers, “Anyone would be lucky to have you, Marinette.”

  
He realizes his mistake then, as her attention shifts from the menu in her hands to him. To his surprise, the designer lowers her gaze in a bashful display of modesty, a soft shade of rose adorning the firework display of freckles along the bridge of her nose. He rushes away then, a laugh echoing behind him as the host chases after, enjoying the sudden shift in his friend.

  
But, ten minutes pass and her ‘date’ has yet to arrive. The designer glances at the clock and compares it to her phone twice before she sets it face up again.  
Twenty minutes pass and she’s on her phone again, dialing the number and leaving her first message. Marinette is still hopeful, it seems, as the artist comes back to refill her water. She sighs, toying with the loose ends of the bow around her neck, “He’s coming.” She assures him, “Any minute now.”

  
Thirty minutes pass and her eyes rise from the menu she’s practically memorized. Hues of ocean blue search the door then return to her phone. No new messages or missed calls.

  
Forty minutes pass and it’s starting to sink in. Two groups have come and gone and she’s started to notice the worried glances cast in her direction. Fingertips toy with the phone, easily finding the number and calling for a third time with no avail. She refuses another refill of her water and instead reaches for the one meant for her date. Nathanaël avoids her table, if only to allow a little more time.

“It’s been an hour, hasn’t it?”

“Poor girl…”

The pillows of her thumbs line the delicate rim of the glass cup. Never in her life had she felt so humiliated. Hunger was the last of her problems as the designer had no desire to eat, her stomach tumbling unpleasantly as her heart threatened to stop from the sheer amount of pain and regret. It was certain now, he had never planned on arriving.

  
A torrent of midnight black tresses spill from her shoulders as she lowers her vision, unable to make direct eye contact with the red head. She draws herself in, shoulder rising as she crosses her arms over the lip of the table. Marinette refuses to acknowledge him, despite knowing well he would never mock her for her stupidity.

  
Biting the inside of his lip, he struggles to find just what to say, as the language of French and its entirety had always been a challenge. She looked so…broken, a hand spreading across her forehead in order to allow fingers to weave through her hair. To know someone out there had caused her so much pain…

  
He would regret severing all ties with the woman that was the warmth of the sun incarnate. He hesitates, slowing his motions when her shoulders fall in a shaky breath and for a brief moment, his heart threatens to give, stopping for a moment longer than could possibly be safe.

  
Was she…crying?

  
Blue eyes lift and for a second time that day, he becomes lost in the tumultuous storm of blue, a cacophony of anger, humiliation and sorrow. Marinette had always been so expressive and the years had not rid her of such a wondrous feature. Lips painted a ruby red press into a thin line before she catches the lower plush of her lip between straight teeth.

  
She’s never looked so fragile as she attempts to smile, fishing for her wallet in the bag he could only assume was an original Dupin-Cheng design. He bends, a knee on the carpet flooring for support as he gingerly places a larger hand above hers.

  
“Mari, please. You didn’t even eat anything.”

  
“No, Nath. You were wonderful, j-just let me—“

  
He swallows thickly, the electric shock of her hand nearly forcing him to release. The search ultimately ends as the soft pitter-patter of rain begins, instantly adorning the café windows with an elegant display of crystal clear drops. She curses under her breath as she releases another, shaky sigh, her resolve threatening to crumble.

  
“Let me...let me take you home.…” The words slip past the barrier of his lips before cognition allows him the chance to register his offer and yet, he can’t stop as another sentence slips from his swollen tongue, making it difficult to speak, “I-I uhm…Let me get you a coffee and I’ll take you home.”

  
“Nath…I couldn’t im—“

  
“Mari, please. I j-just need to know you’re safe…”

  
After a moment or so, she nods, a soft, appreciative smile curving the sanctity of her lips as he stands, stepping back and nearly toppling over another server. Despite the angered growl of his co-worker, the melodic sound of Marinette’s giggle was enough to assure himself he would spill the contents of a thousand trays in order to hear the crystalline chime once again.

  
Returning with gray sweater allowing the white collar of his work shirt to appear along his neck and two cups of coffee in tow, the red head’s heart swells with unmistakable joy as she stands and makes her way in his direction. Despite the circumstances, he’s thankful for the opportunity to spend time with the girl of his dreams and the guilt almost swallows him whole. She’s quiet, at first and he doesn’t push her to speak as he struggles with just what to say. Marinette had always been strong and she proves it again as she takes a breath, allowing the day’s betrayals to follow the air as she exhales.

  
Her voice is soft as she begins to asks him about his career as an artist and his family and continues to gain the energy Marinette is known for after each and every question he answers. Nathanaël learns she’s nearly made it big as a designer and has an apartment of her own, one of which comes to view all too soon, cutting their conversation short as the car stops in front of the building. He exits only seconds after her, rushing to her side with the umbrella despite her clothes already showing signs of exposure. It earns another giggle, and his knees nearly give, threatening to send both of them tumbling into a puddle. Somehow, he manages to reach the gate of her complex without tripping over himself but, he can’t help but wish their time hadn’t been so short. But, to his surprise, she doesn't leave right away, instead fishing for a pen in her jeans before blue eyes catch his.

  
“You were going to let me leave just like that? Again?”

  
“I-I—wha—“

  
“Not even a number?”

  
“M-mari w-wait…”

  
His wrist becomes victim to her hand as she lifts it to the light, scribbling her phone number in neat, elegant writing before she stands on her toes in order to place a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you…for everything.” Releasing him, the designer makes her way through the gate, her hand stopping it from closing as she adds, “Anyone would be lucky to have you, Nath…”

  
Just like that, she’s gone, the gate shutting behind her as the artist’s hands rise in disbelief, fingertips feathering over the ghost of her lips against his complexion, painted a vibrant ruby. The number across the palm of his hand solidifies the notion this wasn’t a dream, no, for once in his life, it was all too real. Maybe, just maybe, what Marinette had stated earlier that day proved to be true. Everything happened for a reason.

**Author's Note:**

> Please kindly review! I would love to know what you think!


End file.
